Maybe It's the Heat
by Oro
Summary: Because that’s what you do when you’re campaigning, because of the heat, or the added pressure, or if Bartlet drops in the polls, and maybe Josh sticks his tongue down her throat.


Maybe It's the Heat

Author: Oro

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Notes: This is another one of those fics I just don't understand but post anyway.

CJ can almost taste the warm night air when she steps outside into the night, and it hits her; too hot and nearly liquid. She hates these nights the most, but she just wanted to escape his constant gaze she sometimes mistakes for scrutiny, though it never is. She's been mistaking it a lot lately; been searching for words and reaching for starting points, knowing it hasn't escaped him. And she knows; she knows he'll come looking for her in only a manner of minutes. She fiddles around somewhat nervously, her elbows propped on the white banister, the only thing cool enough to help maintain her sanity in this agonizing heat.

And he does come looking for her; she can hear him breathe heavily and it crosses her mind for a mere second that it might be more difficult for his Connecticut lungs to bear this humidity than her own California lungs, which is why her tone is softer when she speaks to him this time than it was when they talked in his extemporaneous hotel office. "I told you, Josh, it's not a thing." She doesn't turn to look at him, but instead pretends to be interested in the view.

"Yes, it is a thing! You-"

"No, it's not a thing, so stop making it one."

"I'm just saying, maybe you need some time off, is all." He comes closer, and too close for her taste, because now he's got her in that mood. His shadow suffocates the light coming from the hotel bar. She can hear the muffled laughs coming from the staff's table and Toby's glass hits the table a little too loudly; she wonders briefly if he spilled something on himself. Josh's breaths send her back to reality.

"Fuck you, Joshua Lyman." She says, finally turning to face him. His face is flushed.

"No, listen to me. You are the one that keeps fucking things up, and I'll be the one that'll have to tell Toby to fire you, because you know what? He'll never do it on his own. And I don't want to do this. I don't want you to get fired and most of all; I really don't wanna be that guy." Sigh.

"You _are_ that guy, deal with it," she says, nonchalant; but then she looks up at him, and he looks sincere about not wanting to let her go. A quick wave of sudden regret flushes all over her for a moment, making her all the more edgy. "I can quit, you know." CJ says thoughtfully, dangerously.

His dimples deepen as his lips curve into a playful, relieved grin. Either he doesn't recognize the danger or he's trying to reduce it. "You wouldn't," he says, half-daring. Her silence signals him that she might mean something, and his grin fades as quickly as it appeared. Josh leans on the banister and looks at her. "You screwed up pretty bad there. We can't have these things happening, we're Democrats. We never had much of a chance to begin with." He says, his thoughtful tone matching CJ's.

CJ turns her head to look away from him, at the sand below. Her eyes try to separate each grain from the other in vain. She has nothing to say to him so she just stands there aimlessly, pretending to think, until she can find the opportunity to tell him to shove it. She's been losing her patience very quickly these days; she tells herself it's the heat, or the added pressure, or if Bartlet drops in the polls, and maybe Josh repeats his words too damn much because he enjoys telling her that she's bad at her job. She looks at him in resentment, and his face is suddenly too close;

Because that's what you do when you're campaigning, because of the heat, or the added pressure, or if Bartlet drops in the polls, and maybe Josh sticks his tongue down her throat. Maybe she doesn't mind at all. His tongue moves over hers; tasting his sweat, his tongue, his regret, is why she is the one to break the kiss. She catches her breath; "it's getting to be one of those things, isn't it?" she asks.

He bites his lip, red from her lipstick, probably tasting CJ and grasshopper on it, and it suddenly occurs to her that maybe she doesn't mind that he kissed her just then. This time, she initiates the kiss; he feels certain enough to wrap his arms around her. Maybe he'll romanticize her later on, will maybe call her his muse or whatever it is that drives deputies to do what they do, or think about her long legs and sweet kisses when he shouldn't. She toys with the idea that he is young and impressionable, even though he probably isn't (which she knows, because neither is she).

"Yes," he finally says, after they'd stopped and caught their breaths. He says it slowly, quietly, as if he thinks she'll get hurt by his words and professionalism.

"Fuck you, Josh," CJ replies and pulls herself out of the arms that are still wrapped around her waist, because she isn't some dinky princess who needs to be held, isn't his to hold in the first place. It's not about that, though, not about feminism and being the only woman on the staff, not about her occasional fuck-ups, not about it being one of those things; it's about everything it's not about.

She steps back into the light because the darkness holds too much bullshit in it.

FIN


End file.
